


Cuddling is Mandatory

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Other, Pre-Slash, and im not sorry at all, the author has done weird shit with souls and grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Winchesters are angelic catnip, and no one seems to realize this until it is far, far too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuddling is Mandatory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phxsphorvs (andsowefell)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsowefell/gifts).



> for pen-dergast(andsowefell) because i have not gifted anything to my babe in too long. sorry that its cracktastic and terrible
> 
> but yes woohoo crackfic. i am so tired

It’s probably not intentional. The extension of space, the guidance, the casual warmth of contact that never lasts more than a moment. And they’re both just so - so _bright_ , utterly dazzling among the sea of humanity. Castiel assures himself that they simply have no idea what they’re doing. This is typical human behavior, and it simply wouldn’t be fair to ask -

Dean sprawls himself on top of Sam, grinning like he expects Sam to freak out and push him off his bed, but Sam just grumbles something and pushes his face further into the pillow. Castiel, perched in a chair on the other side of the room, makes a small and unintentional noise.

Sam blinks his eyes open, and Dean raises his head, and they’re both _watching him_.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean starts, smiling wide and earnest. “You wanna join?”

Helplessly, he stands up and makes his way over to the bed. This is it. This is all the confirmation he will ever need that Winchesters are temptation given form, and that here, now, this is his Fall.

“No shoes,” Sam says, voice half-muffled in the pillow. But then he turns and shifts to the furthest side of the bed and Dean does the same and there’s so little space. Castiel doesn’t think they’ll actually all fit.

But they manage, somehow. Most of his clothes end up on the floor in crumpled piles, except the trench coat, which Dean insists on folding. And he ends up pressed between the two hunters, pinned firmly between them with arms and legs tangled everywhere and shared space and _heat_. Castiel is physically incapable of stopping himself from reaching out, not with hands but with his grace, and their souls sing and call back to him. He shudders a little, going absolutely boneless with bliss, and smiles dopily when Sam curls further into his back and Dean’s fingers end up on the back of his neck.

He finds himself snickering, and nosing lightly against collarbone. Castiel feels both of them go still, short stutters in the pattern of breath, and he stiffens.

Then Dean huffs out a little laugh, and they’re both pressing closer, closer, and Castiel _sighs_.

He wasn’t aware he could sleep until he woke up, pinned to the bed by Sam and Dean, who have each claimed half of him on this bed that needed an extra foot of length in every direction to have a hope of containing them. Sam is using his shoulder as a pillow, body curled around his ribcage and on leg twined with one of his own. Dean takes up the other side, his head level with Castiel’s but sprawled _everywhere_ , an arm across Sam’s shoulders, nose buried in Cas’ neck, one knee resting gently over his abdomen while the other leg flails off the bed a bit.

He reaches again, and feels them respond, and decides to sink into this bliss for as long as he can.

 

* * *

 

Finding Dean and Cas cuddling wasn’t really weird at this point. Hell, being part of that duo for couch cuddling during movies was pretty normal for them at this point.

But Lucifer sprawled across his bed like he belongs there, like a lazy cat basking in the afternoon sun, is not normal. Sam is half a second away from screaming at Lucifer to _get the fuck off my bed what the fuck dude_ and then Lucifer scrunches his face a little and sighs, curls half-way to the fetal position.

Sam is absolutely frozen, because he understands at this point that casual contact (or even weirdly intimate yet non-sexual contact) is a lot different for angels than humans. Cas always seems like he’s melting, like he’s just taken a hit off the best drug on the planet, and with Lucifer ranting the way he does about how they’re separate pieces of the same puzzle and all that, he can imagine it’s going to be ten times worse.

There hasn’t been a lot of positive physical contact in Sam’s life. More in his than Dean’s, but still. Not nearly enough. And fuck it, he just wants this, this stupid, innocent thing.

*

Lucifer startles from something that wasn’t quite sleep to feel Sam slipping an arm around his waist, body flush against his back, and the groan that falls out of him when Sam buries his face in his hair is unseemly. He can’t quite bring himself to care.

He turns in Sam’s arms to face him. Lucifer honestly doesn’t want to but if Sam is going to do this then Lucifer needs to make it abundantly clear how he’s going to use him. Because he will use him _shamelessly_ if he has permission. Sam is warm like a furnace, and he doesn’t seem to question the change at all, just pulls Lucifer closer.

And then he reaches, before Lucifer can even ask if it’s okay. _Sam_ is the one reaching, whether he’s aware of it or not, reaching and pulling and Lucifer wraps himself around Sam like he isn’t going to let go ever. His mouth ends up somewhere around the hollow of Sam’s throat and Sam’s face is buried in his hair.

This is good. It’s so, so good that Lucifer never wants it to end. He makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, curls himself further around Sam. Sam grins, slides a leg between Lucifer’s own and rolls him back, presses him into the bed and just sprawls on top of him. The feedback loop of grace and soul, one that he’s already so thoroughly tied to, is enough to send Lucifer into boneless, high-flying bliss. The position pushes it into something he actively wants to _keep_. His hands tangle in Sam’s hair, stroking gently.

“Thank you,” Lucifer says, dazed and distant-sounding.

Sam just laughs into his chest, warm and heavy and so very, very bright.

 

* * *

 

Castiel and Lucifer are watching Sam and Dean. They’re both trying very, very hard not to make any sounds.

“Is this intentional?” Lucifer eventually asks, voice so low as to be inaudible.

Dean pokes Sam in the ribs and grumbles and instruction, before moving away to tend the burgers. Castiel’s fingers dig into his knees a little.

“No,” he answers, voice slightly strained. “They’ve always done this.”

“Has it gotten _worse_?” Lucifer’s voice does something strange right at the end, because Sam is slapping Dean’s hands away from the fruit he was mutilating.

Castiel shrugs and leans heavily against Lucifer, and Lucifer draws Castiel under his arm. They push and pull and sing, just a little, just enough to take the edge off. Castiel slumps gracelessly and leans his head against Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer smiles sleepily, and props his chin on Castiel’s head. Their eyes never leave the brothers.

“Hey!” Dean snaps, pointing a knife at them. “No jacking off while we’re cooking!”

Sam chokes, and his eyes slide over to where the angels are hastily removing themselves from each other. Castiel is stuttering out nonsense, embarrassed, and Lucifer is _blushing_. Just a little, just a tiny bit, but - he’s fucking blushing. Sam sort of wishes he had a camera.

 

* * *

 

“Dude,” Dean mutters, from where he’s buried in Cas’ chest. “When did this become our lives?”

Sam looks over Lucifer’s shoulder to eye his brother. The movie has long since been turned off, but they’re all still curled here in a pile of pillows and blankets on the bunker floor. Sam is lined up hip and shoulders with Lucifer, who is gently cuddling Castiel, who is viciously crushing Dean - not that Dean minds. He gives the question honest thought.

“What time were we born?” he asks, and an unused pillow comes flying from Dean’s side of the mess. It lands a foot behind Sam, who snickers into the back of Lucifer’s neck.

Lucifer blinks open bleary eyes, and tilts his head backwards to press a kiss to the underside of Sam’s jaw. Then he moves back, face pressing into Castiel’s shoulder blades. Dean raises a critical eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Sam mutters. “Like you have room to talk.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Dean defends, but he looks distinctly embarrassed

Unheard, unfelt, and unseen, the angels push and pull for a little more - from each other, and the hunters. They settle a little more, sighing.

 

 


End file.
